


Silence In This Shallow Space.

by Basingstoke



Series: Tear Garden Trilogy [3]
Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-12-14
Updated: 1999-12-14
Packaged: 2017-10-02 17:30:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Basingstoke/pseuds/Basingstoke





	Silence In This Shallow Space.

It was my third day at the dealer's.

I sat on the rough wooden bench outside the dealer's office, carefully  
smoothing my shirt back under the heavy collar. I closed my eyes and leaned  
back against the wall, concentrating on the muffled sound of the dealer  
discussing my record with a potential buyer.

"His record is rather unusual," said the dealer. "Partially because  
it *is* so complete--he hasn't many owners."

"Well, that's a good sign."

"Yes, usually. It's the owner record that's the strange part. He was  
born in a brothel in the city, and lived there for ten years. I can't imagine  
why, they usually sell the sprats sooner."

The man rumbled disapprovingly.

"Well, they *do.* But he was first sold at ten, to a Lord. Then sold  
again six months later, to a Gentleman."

The man snorted. "The things they do in that city."

"I know, I know, that's why I don't trade in children. Can't abide the  
people that come in. Anyway, he stayed there for six years, then was sold  
to a young Gentleman as a valet."

"Valet?" The man sounded more disapproving with every sentence the dealer  
spoke.

"Valet. This is the record of his youth, Owen, he was put to more useful  
work later on. But he stayed there for five years. Then the next dealer  
put a note on the record: '21 years of age. Damaged, but obedient and able.'"

"Damaged? Hm. Who bought him?"

"A builder. Taught him to lay bricks, apparently."

"A very skilled trade...don't free man usually do that?"

"Yes, usually."

"Hm. That's real work, sure enough. That was his last owner?"

"Yes. He was there full seventeen years, until the man died. But you  
can see how strong the slave is, not broken down at all."

"Plenty of gray in his hair."

"That's normal."

"Hm...I could go over to Que-Al's and buy a much younger man for the  
same price, you know." I could hear his tone change, the familiar cadence  
of haggling. He was interested. He would probably buy me.

"Owen! My old friend. You don't really want a young man, not in *your*  
household. Their tempers are so uncertain, how do you know he'd be safe?  
You can trust an older slave. And the young ones run away more--such a  
trial, hunting them down. Here--look--Owen, you've been a loyal customer.  
I'll give him to you for two gold." That was a good price for a man my  
age; I was pleasantly suprised.

"Hmmm..."

"You've never gone wrong with my suggestions before."

"True. All right, I'll buy him."

The sound of a handshake and money changing hands. I stood slowly, awaiting  
my new master. He sounded like a good man, as good as could be expected.

Nobody could be as good as my last master, but Master Owen at least  
didn't sound cruel.

The two exited the office, Owen looking me over again. He was a smaller  
man than myself, of course, most are; but he looked upon me without that  
tremor of distrust and fear that I've learned to dread.

"Well, then," Owen said to me, "what is your name?"

"My previous master called me Jasper, Master," I answered.

"Jasper. Good name. Come along, man." The dealer handed Owen the key  
to my collar and he led me to a waiting wagon. Another slave man, roughly  
my own age, sat in the seat holding the reins. He cast me a speculative  
glance; not hostile, but reserving judgment.

Owen swung up on a separate horse. "Right. We have supplies, we have  
the new man. Next, we need to get a lighter collar. Can't abide those heavy  
things. Hop up in the wagon, Jasper. Pines, we'll head down the street  
to the blacksmith."

I climbed into the back of the wagon and looked at the supplies inside  
as the wagon rattled down the street. The wagon was a farm wagon, so he  
must have a farm near the city. Good cloth with a feminine print--the master  
had a wife. Bolts of rougher cloth suitable for slave clothing--he had  
more slaves than we two. Fruit and some vegetables, some sugar and salt,  
but no meat or grains--food was produced on the farm, then. A bag of nails,  
a bag of screws, several lengths of good wood. A high chair--a child, then,  
and probably the first. Barrel hoops and staves.

Useful items. The man was likely a prosperous farmer recently wived,  
with a young child and several other slaves. And then there was Pines--a  
slave, with a slave's name, but obviously trusted, and without any cowering  
air.

The situation looked good. My tension eased, settling into edgy alertness.

The wagon stopped and I heard my Master's voice. "Hup! Out of the wagon,  
Jasper, we need to trade that collar."

The blacksmith's shop was a large open area at the end of the block.  
I was intimately familiar with it, having run many errands for my master  
the builder there. Racks of bent pots and sharpened knives, several youths  
holding shoeless horses. A rack of collars of varied types and sizes. I  
saw a fretful slave pinned in the shadowed corner, awaiting an iron collar.  
But I could not help him...I could only help myself now. Master Owen chose  
a light leather buckled collar to replace the leather-lined iron locking  
collar standard to the dealer.

Such a minimal collar was a powerful symbol of trust. Slaves are required  
by law to wear collars to show their station, but the type of collar was  
chosen by the master.

I returned to the wagon with a tremor of hope in my stomach--hope that  
I had not felt since my Master the builder died.

[end part one]

I dozed in the wagon, the setting sun heavy on my head.

Remembering my mother--a tall, stately woman trapped by circumstance  
into brothel slavery. Myself her third son, the only one born into slavery.  
She never told me what became of my older brothers, so I assume they are  
not free. She kept me close by her, refusing to work were I sold.

Then she died, and I was sold for the first time. Eleven years old,  
but they sold me as ten. The brothel owner angry at my size--were I smaller,  
I could pass as younger and fetch a higher price.

Memory--her whisper. "Never forget your true name, Qui-Gon. Never forget  
freedom."

On the auction block, my cheeks still wet with tears for my mother,  
sold to a strange man with cruel eyes...

I woke up when the wagon stopped, my hands shaking. The sun was low  
in the sky, the air peaceful.

"Come inside with me, fellow, and we'll get you settled," said Pines.  
I rubbed my hands over my face and helped him unload the wagon.

"You'll be mainly about the animals and stables, Jasper. Taking my place.  
I'm the new overseer. Just do whatever the Master and his family tell you  
to, and listen to Cook, and don't tease the house maid. You'll be fine,  
it's a good place."

I nodded. The stables and pens were near the house, which was a small  
but tidy and pleasant two-story building. The wagon was pulled into a sizable  
yard in back, covered in stones and straw. The window at the back of the  
house looked into the warm and cozy kitchen, where an older woman bustled  
around making dinner.

"Dinner will be on soon. The family eats first, and the maid serves,  
then we all eat the leftovers, all us servants of the house." Pines leaned  
against the wagon and lit a pipe. "Won't be long now."

I was suddenly ravenous and exhausted as warm kitchen smells gusted  
over us. This was my new home. I didn't let myself give in to longing for  
my old home.

The cook opened the back door. "Come in for dinner! There's plenty!"  
Pines snuffed his pipe and gestured to me, and I followed him into the  
homey kitchen. The cook and another woman of about thirty years set food  
on the table and served themselves hearty plates. Pines likewise grabbed  
a plate and handed one to me, piling up meat and roasted vegetables and  
fresh bread with butter. I stood and stared at the food, feeling strange  
to my core.

"Why son, you look like you've seen a ghost." The cook, her voice kindly.

"No ma'am, not a ghost...just..." I closed my eyes to gather myself,  
reopened them and smiled a little. "Just the past."

I sat down and took some bread, inhaling the comforting scent before  
taking a bite. I chewed slowly--my rations had been short at the dealer's  
and I wasn't sure what my stomach would take.

"What's your name, son?"

"Jasper."

She nodded. "Good name. Did Master Owen name you that?"

"No ma'am. My last master did. He named me Brick to start, then changed  
my name after a few years."

"Oh, call me Cook. The Master's wife is Ma'am, not me. Where did you  
come from, Jasper?"

"I came from the city, my last master was a builder. He taught me to  
lay bricks and other tasks."

"How long were you there?"

"A long time, a very long time. The dealer said seventeen years. The  
master was a good man." My voice dropped, I tried to hold in emotion. Slaves  
do not mourn. "He was a very good man. But he died, and his son sold everything."

"Tsk." Cook showed quiet sympathy in her voice. "This is a good place  
too. Master Owen treats us well."

"Much better than my last place," said the maid with a grimace.

"And mine," added Pines. "Master Owen knows a slave's strength. But  
he has a temper--just mind his words, whatever they are."

I finished my bread, which was quite good. Cook handed me a plate piled  
with food. "Eat," she smiled. I returned the smile, glad to find such generous  
souls.

The summoning bell rang, and the house maid leapt up to answer. She  
returned shortly saying "Jasper, the Master wants you."

I followed her into the parlor, where the master was sitting with a  
plain woman and a small blond boy.

"Jasper, this is your new mistress. I expect you to give her all the  
obedience you give myself." I made a bow. "And this is my son Luke. He's  
two years old so you'll have to be careful of him as you do chores." I  
nodded again, looking at the small, sleeping boy under my lashes. I had  
never been around children before.

"All right. You're dismissed after dinner, Jasper. Ask Pines where to  
bed down."

I bowed and retreated to the kitchen, glad to get away from the master.  
I was far more comfortable among the other slaves. Returning to my dinner,  
I noticed for the first time how good the food was, and how bountiful.  
I ate my fill, letting it warm me from the inside.

[end part two]

Pines gave me blankets and took me to the hayloft of the stable, which  
made a surprisingly warm and comfortable bed. I could hear the sleepy sounds  
of the horses below and the pigs behind. It was wonderful.

I rubbed the bone in my thumb that had broken last year, soothing the  
tiny ache. Memory of my master: "Ah, Jasper...I feel the rain in my knees  
and the snow in my thumbs. Storms blow up in my elbows and rainbows form  
behind my eyes...when seventy years you have, you'll be an almanac in yourself  
as well!"

Wrapping the blankets further around myself, drifting into sleep. Sudden  
shock of memory: the blank room, the sealed window, standing on tiptoe  
looking for birds, the harsh binding and pain pain pain--

I sat up, breathing harshly. Only memory, the remnants of my boyhood.  
Rubbing my eyes, looking down at my rough hands in the grayness of moonlight.  
I focused on the present, narrowing my view to the hayloft and the stars,  
releasing fear to the wind as my master the builder had taught me.

"You have a life of service, eh?" His gnarled hands tipping a tiny spoon  
into a still-blind kitten's mouth. "We all have service owed to each other."  
Thumping my broad chest with the spoon, his eyes bright under wild brows.  
"All! Master and slave, makes no difference! The wind knows not. So you  
make sure your service is for the good, not brought down by fears and darkness."

Memory and dream flowed so freely in the adjusting times.

* * *

Morning. Pines woke me at dawn. "Get used to this," he said with a smile.  
"Days start early here."

First we fed the horses and milked the two cows. Pines explained that  
I would take over the duties of the yard, and that he would go on to oversee  
the other farm slaves. I was considered a house slave.

I felt strange about this dichotomy of field and house. I was accustomed  
to work alongside the laborers under the guidance of my master the builder.  
I kept my eyes open, determined to investigate the lot of the field slaves  
here.

Pines left me chopping wood with instructions to see Cook about restocking  
the fireplaces, and went to perform the rest of his duties. I threw myself  
into the manual labor gladly; wood chopping was comfortingly routine.

I stacked wood in the kitchen first, then the dining room, then the  
parlor. Lady Beru came down the stairs then, calling tentatively, "Jasper?  
I need you to bring something in for me."

I bowed of course, dusting my hands on my trousers. She seemed nervous,  
her eyes flickering over me. I was not surprised. I had a good eight inches  
and accompanying bulk on Pines, the only other male servant, and I was  
a full foot taller than the Lady herself. I moved carefully, making sure  
not to loom. The last thing I wanted was to intimidate her.

"Please take the high chair from the wagon and place it in the dining  
room, and then gather those bolts of fabric and take them to the parlor,"  
she said, her voice surer in authority.

I carried the fabric into the house, following Lady Beru. "You can set  
them down here," she said, pointing to a table in her parlor. "Thank you,  
Jasper."

I nodded a half bow to her, turned away--and stopped short.

My face.

A glass. A mirror. My reflection. My face.

"Jasper?"

My face. Older...lined and gray, my short, functional beard gone nearly  
white, the lines in my face engraved like a walnut shell. And my eyes,  
once so sparkling bright, gone dull and beaten. The broken nose, I had  
never seen it before.

My face. Aged. I had never seen myself so. I slowly brought my hand  
to my cheekbone, and the reflection did the same. It was me, unquestionably.

"Jasper, are you all right?" The lady's voice sharp and frightened.

I turned to her suddenly; her brow was furrowed with uncertainty.

"I am sorry--ma'am--I just have never--" I stopped, and collected myself.  
"I have not seen a mirror in some twenty years, mistress. I was...taken  
by surprise."

Her brow smoothed. "Oh...yes, I can see that would be a suprise. Go  
ahead and look." She smiled with relief.

I looked back at my reflection. Not a bad face, but definitely a slave's  
face. Broken, worn and lined. I ducked my head and broke my own gaze. "Thank  
you, mistress."

I left the room. I left the house. I sat heavily on the bench in the  
yard, flicking a blade of hay between my fingers.

When was the last time I had seen myself? I remembered the mirrors all  
through Xae's house. He liked to be reminded of his considerable beauty,  
and he liked his guests to know how they compared to him. I remembered  
looking over his reflected shoulder at my still, hovering face, in unflattering  
livery, my brow already creased with the stresses of a slave's life.

I turned my face up to the sun. Not a bad face. The lines were marks  
of an active life. Better than the narcissistic contemplation that birthed  
Xae's smooth porcelain mask.

I felt a soft pat at the blade of hay I held. A barn cat, captivated  
by the flickering movement. I smiled and twitched it up over the cat's  
head, watching her tail switch and her eyes brighten. I reached a hand  
out to her and she sniffed it, then licked it thoroughly, miffed at the  
dust and dirt.

"We're all your kittens, aren't we, little mother?" I whispered to her.  
She looked up at me, the tilt of her head and the wise look in her eyes  
reminding me of my master the builder. She lifted her paws up against my  
knee and rubbed her head against my hand, marking me as her own oversized  
kitten. So like, so very like. I waited for the familiar twinge of loss  
but found only satisfaction in seeing his reflection in all the good creatures  
of the world.

She switched her tail and trotted toward the barn, looking for mice  
no doubt. I returned to the woodchopping, my heart light within me.

[end part three]

Months passed. I had been purchased so that Pines might oversee the  
harvest, and then administer in Owen's absence. I assisted Pines and the  
master both. I learned the farm inside and out, learned to care for animals  
and tend crops.

Winter came, and the farm slept. I worked diligently to keep the yard  
free from ice and the animals healthy. I repaired the farm vehicles and  
leanred to make barrels.

Spring brought the season of planting, a busy time for everyone.

Summertime, the bright heat unlike any city season. The seasons were  
so defined here; the skies unrelieved by overhanging buildings.

And thus, a year passed. And I was...if not happy, then content.

* * *

Overheard words while chopping wood: "letter from my brother....moving  
house...so many books...Jasper? ...spare him? ...send him? all right...scholar,  
silly boy...loved books..."

Owen's brother? I was curious. I stacked the wood and started stocking  
the fireplaces: first the kitchen stash, then the parlor, then Owen's study.  
Owen sat within.

"Jasper!"

"Sir?"

"I'm sending you to my brother for a few weeks. He's moving and needs  
some help. Have you packed up books before?"

"Yes sir, one of my previous masters was a scholar and had many books.  
He taught me to look after them."

"Really...can you read, Jasper?" A strange question.

"No sir."

"Hm. Well, you leave at the end of the week. Pines will take you into  
town when he goes to get supplies. Pack whatever clothes you have."

"Yes sir." I nodded a bow and left the room, intensely curious about  
Owen's scholar brother.

[end part four]

Pines stopped the wagon in front of a row of narrow townhouses. I knew  
the sort, I had lived in one or another for much of my life. Four stories  
tall, with one or two rooms to a floor. Kitchens and scullery, parlor and  
dining room, bedrooms, servants quarters.

I followed Pines up the steps of a house identical to all the others.  
He knocked on the door and removed his cap.

A maid answered. "Yes?"

"I'm delivering Jasper to Master Obi-Wan, Master Owen sent us," he said.

"Oh yes..." She looked at me. "Come with me."

Pines gestured me past him, smiling slightly. I followed the woman into  
the cramped house.

I noticed the clutter right away. There were books *everywhere.* And  
papers, and interesting knickknacks, and old rubbish of extreme value to  
the scholar. I recognized this clutter, I was intimately familiar with  
it.

The maid led me up the stairs to what I knew would be the master's study.  
The doors hung open, revealing an unusually tasteful parlor and a study  
packed full of intriguing debris. The maid knocked on the door. "Master  
Obi-Wan, Master Owen's slave is here."

"Oh? Oh, bring him in."

We entered, and I saw the scholar-master finally. He was younger than  
I expected, of medium build and ruffled appearance. He wore his hair shorter  
than was fashionable and had a sharp concentration crease between his eyes.  
And he was quite pale, the mark of a true scholar.

I was intrigued. I had to wonder how he and Owen sprang from the same  
nest.

He looked at us with harried eyes. "This is him?"

"Yes sir."

"All right...what's your name, man?"

"Jasper."

"Jasper. Are you familiar with books? Can you tell one end from the  
other, do you know how to handle them?"

"Yes sir, a former master was a scholar as well."

"Wonderful. Wonderful." He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it spiky  
like a hedgehog. He let out a deep breath. "Go to that shelf, and pack  
everything on it please."

"Yes sir." I crossed to the indicated shelf, feeling his eyes upon me.

"Shall I prepare dinner, sir?" asked the maid.

"Yes, please." He was unusually polite compared to Master Owen. I regarded  
the shelf. The books were of varying sizes, but I recognized the standard  
book sizing. If I laid down a layer of the medium size, then the large  
size would fit end-to-end with the smaller ones filling the gaps. I filled  
the book crate neatly.

"That's amazing." I jumped, startled--Master Obi-Wan had crept up behind  
me.

"Excuse me," he said, blushing slightly, "but that's wonderful. I could  
never get the hired workers to pack books so well, I was having to do it  
all myself. This will go so much faster with you here."

I ducked my head. "Thank you, master."

He seemed uncomfortable, confused. He was so young. He turned away,  
filling a box with papers. I returned to packing as well.

Eventually the maid returned. "Dinner is ready, sir." Obi-Wan headed  
down the stairs; I paused, uncertain. The maid turned to me and I noticed  
she was a free woman. Strange. "If you go down to the kitchen, there's  
a plate waiting for you." She smiled, and I thanked her quietly.

I descended quietly, finding the basement kitchen easily. It was fairly  
large and comfortably warm, the air heavy with the smells of bread and  
soup. The plate was full and I ate gratefully.

My thoughts dwelled on the young master.

I tipped back in the chair and relaxed.

[end part five]

Night. I wrapped myself in a blanket by the banked study fire. The young  
master had wanted to give me a better bed, but the maid had insisted this  
was proper. I was grateful to her; normal beds held no charm for me. I  
slept by the banked fire in my master's workshop for some seventeen years,  
and in the bed of my masters for some eleven years previous. A bed was  
not a place of rest for me.

I heard the creak of the floor and then bedsprings above. I was directly  
under the young master's bedroom.

I arose and crept over to the bookshelf where I had seen a particular  
volume earlier. Orel's Bestiary of the Continent. I remembered this book  
from my youth, the descriptions of beasts that couldn't possibly be real,  
but were so fascinating anyway.

I had lied to Owen. My former master had taught me to read. But I knew  
the law, which stated that slaves were to be kept illiterate. So I hid  
my knowledge; it was easy enough.

The strange yet familiar beasts lulled me to sleep, and I carefully  
replaced the book before curling up for the last time against the fire's  
warmth.

* * *

The next few days were nothing but packing. The young master had to  
be out of the house within the week, and was frantically trying to get  
all his materials safely secured for the move. The hired movers transported  
the boxes as we filled them, working side by side. He was quite an odd  
young man, but I found that I liked him; the subjects of the books were  
so varied that I could barely picture anyone having an interest in them  
all, and yet they all showed signs of use. And he became warmer as we worked  
together, giving me the occasional smile as the shelves cleared. Quite  
unlike the masters I had known. I wondered...many things.

And finally there was nothing left to pack, and we left the house to  
begin the tedious process of unpacking in the new one.

It was night by the time we arrived. The maid brought dinner and we  
ate in our separate locales, we two downstairs and the young master upstairs.

The study was cold. The maid had simply forgotten to lay a fire, in  
the bustle of the move. I didn't blame her, but she had the only firelighters.  
I wrapped my coat and blanket around myself and nestled against two boxes  
for warmth. I would be all right, just for a night.

"Jasper?" The young master called, and I jumped to my feet.

"Sir?"

"You're not sleeping down here, are you? There's no fire!"

"I'll be all right, young master."

"But it's freezing!"

"Not so cold, sir."

"Come--sleep here in my bed, it's big enough for four and you need the  
rest."

Shock. I felt cold roil in my stomach at the over-familiar words, and  
I drew back involuntarily. I was silent for a moment, and the faint hope  
in the young man's expression plummeted. He looked sick as he awaited my  
response.

"I--It's not proper. I should sleep on the floor at the foot of the  
bed, if that's all right with you."

"Yes!" His words gasped. "Yes, of course, it's all right." He smiled  
faintly. He turned abruptly and retreated up the stairs at a running pace.

I paused and collected myself.

I was not afraid of him, merely...uncertain? I rubbed my forehead, chiding  
myself for playing the part of the blushing virgin. I gathered coat and  
blankets in my arms, ascended the stairs to the warm bedroom, and curled  
up on the soft rug at the foot of the bed. The young man lay in the enormous  
bed alone.

"Goodnight, Jasper," he said softly. Wistfully.

"Goodnight, young master."

The hiss of the fire accompanied us both into sleep.

[end part six]

Obi-Wan looked glassy-eyed that morning, pale and shivering. "You look  
ill, young master."

He looked at me, miserable. "I feel ill."

"You should sleep, young master. I can unpack."

"No...I'll sort through these papers. You get the box of cartography,  
all right?"

"Yes, sir." I kept an eye on him all the same. His drawn face pulled  
tauter as he sorted through papers. I saw him make piles, then remake them  
in meaningless patterns. His bright eyes flickered over the papers, the  
boxes, and me, always returning to me.

Finally he sighed. "Perhaps I need more rest after all. I'll just put  
these away." He picked up the pile of papers and stepped up the library  
ladder, intending them for an upper shelf.

I saw his waver on the second step so I was there to catch him when  
he fell from the fourth. He fell like a hot coal into my hands, his skin  
burning through the layers of clothing.

"Mare! Come quickly!" I laid him on the couch, rubbing his hands. 

Obi-Wan shook his head, muttering "I--don't need--can--" His hands were  
ice cold, his eyes dialiated in burning skin.

The maid clattered down the stairs and entered the study. "What happened?"  
she asked, crossing the room quickly and kneeling beside me.

"He fainted. He's quite ill, he needs a physician."

"I'll go then, I know where he lives. Can you look after him until then?"

"Yes. I've watched the sick many times."

She nodded, standing and taking off her apron. I heard her go down the  
stairs and out the front door, moving quickly.

I wrapped his shivering body in blankets and cradled him into the heat  
of my chest. His forehead burned against me, his body searing the sickness  
from his tender flesh. A hectic scarlet flush was rising in his face, a  
symptom I recognized with a sick sinking feeling.

He whispered small things against my collarbone. Suddenly tipping his  
head back, staring up at me with glittering eyes.

"I saw you by the fire. Reading my books..." My stomach clenched with  
a ripple of fear. "Holding the book like a lover, smiling down, I saw you...why  
don't you read me..." His eyes drifted closed, he was insensible. "Read  
me..."

* * *

Red fever. Nothing to do but wait for the fever to break--and try to  
keep it from killing him before it did.

* * *

I didn't know what time it was, only that darkness filled the room past  
my candles. I didn't know what day it was, but that it was the sixth day  
of Obi-Wan's illness. I pressed warm, damp cloths to his forehead, and  
held a washcloth soaked in clean water over his murmuring mouth. His fever  
burning so hot that I could feel the radiation of his skin against my face  
as I hovered beside him on the massive bed.

"Drink, drink!" I whispered desperately. His lips were cracked with  
dehydration. I pressed the wet cloth onto his tongue, not daring to tip  
water into a mouth not aware enough to swallow.

Finally his lips closed around my fingers and his tongue worked, swallowing  
the water that would save him. I lay my head on the pillow beside him,  
exhausted, my hand resting in his mouth.

"Live, Obi-Wan!" I breathed into his ear. Never dared to use his name  
aloud before. A plea given in the blackness of night.

I pressed my forehead into his furnace-hot hair, letting his sickness  
warm the chill from my bones. I slept, wrapped around his wasting frame.  
Exhausted. I had given him water, there was nothing more I could do.

The shaft of sunlight awoke me as it drifted across my eyes. My body  
still held Obi-Wan in tight embrace, his hands folded up under his chin,  
his elbows brushing his tucked-up knees, flat against my long body. The  
curve of his skull fit under my chin as if they had been created together.

I brought my hand up to check his temperature, cradling cheek and forehead  
with my large hand--and finding them both wet.

Wet from the sweat of a fever broken.

My heart leapt with sudden joy. Obi-Wan slept peacefully, breathing  
easily, healthy pink returning to his drawn cheeks.

I impulsively kissed his brow in relief, the lifted strain leaving me  
buoyant. Three heartfelt kisses I allowed myself, no more. But it was enough.

[end part seven. next part: the part of beautiful dreams.]

When he awoke I fed him cool tea and toast. He looked up at me with  
enormous bright eyes, letting me feed him like a baby, glad to be aware  
and alive.

"How long have I been sick?" he asked eventually.

"I don't know. Perhaps a week."

"Was I very ill?"

"Yes." I paused, letting the exhaustion in my face show the seriousness  
of his illness. "You had red fever." I didn't have to tell him how dangerous  
that was.

"And you stayed with me...you risked your life to care for me."

"I had it when I was a child. I was safe."

"It's not unusual to catch it twice."

"But I didn't," I said quietly. "And I could not leave you alone."

He raised his hand and I caught it in mine. Such a simple touch...

"Where is Mare?"

"Home. She is with child, and could not risk the baby."

"Oh! I didn't know that." He squeezed my hand weakly. "Then we are alone...."

"Yes."

"Will you lay beside me? I must rest, and I think you must as well."

"Yes." I set aside the tray and removed my boots, suddenly catching  
his gaze as I stood upright. There was no fear, no nervousness, no lust  
in his bright eye. Simply longing. A longing I echoed, a simple desire  
to be touched.

I slid into bed beside him once more, covering his body with my large  
form. He sighed, a tiny sound, and burrowed his head under my chin again.  
He relaxed into me and I held him warm and safe.

* * *

We rested for most of the day, Obi-Wan in healing sleep and myself in  
a light, peaceful doze. I couldn't remember the last time I had felt so  
completely right.

Night fell. I was awake, listening to the young master breathe. After  
so many days concentrating on his taut, labored breaths, the deep, gentle  
sound of sleep was sweeter than a song.

His breath shortened as he roused from sleep. He didn't move for a long  
while, preferring as I did to lie still together. But eventually, I felt  
his long eyelashes flutter against my neck.

"Jasper," he whispered.

"How do you feel, young master?"

"Good." He rolled onto his back slowly and smiled. He looked so different,  
so relaxed. Quite different from the harried mask he had presented before.  
"Very good. Although--" his forehead crinkling--"I need a bath, badly."

"Yes," I smiled, "you do."

He stuck his tongue out at me. I sat up, stretching, rolling my stiff  
joints. I could feel his eyes upon me as I climbed out of bed and replaced  
my boots.

A bath is not a trivial undertaking. The metal tub was stored in a storage  
room off the kitchen. I filled it one-third full of water from the rainwater  
butt and carried it up the three flights of stairs to the bedroom, placing  
it by the fire to warm.

I then returned to the ground floor, stopping to buy meat pies and apple  
tarts from a vendor on the street. They were far more plebeian than the  
young master was used to, but I was no cook and had not enough time to  
fetch the maid. I brought the food, the large kettle and two jugs up to  
the bedroom.

"Dinner, sir," I told Obi-Wan as I hung the kettle over the fire. He  
looked at the meat pies curiously, but ate them with evident appetite and  
enjoyment.

The kettle boiled and I poured it into the tub, refilled it in the kitchen  
and hung it again to boil. The jugs were half filled with cold rainwater  
to be mixed with the hot water.

"Do you know," said Obi-Wan wonderingly, "that I have never tasted any  
food so good as these meat pies do right now." I looked at him and smiled  
slightly.

"You've come back from the edge of death, young master. The trappings  
of life are that much sweeter." I crossed the room, to help him into the  
bath.

He pulled his night-shirt over his head, leaving himself naked and exhausted.  
"I'm sorry, I'm so tired..." he began to apologize before I simply picked  
him up and carried him to the bath. His eyes went round.

"Oh. You're stronger than I expected, Jasper."

I simply looked at him as I helped him carefully step into the bath.  
"Do you think you weigh more than that bathtub full of water? Especially  
now?"

"No...I suppose not...oh!" he gasped as he was lowered into the warm  
water. "That feels...wonderful." Breath escaping him in a sigh of pleasure.

The kettle was hot, so I poured water into the jugs, then with jug in  
one hand and washcloth in the other, washed the sickness from Obi-Wan.  
He let me minister to him without protest, nearly purring under my touch.  
I poured the water over his head and he emerged a new man.

I helped him stand up, wrapping him in a thick, warm robe. I toweled  
his short hair dry, leaving it spiky like a hedgehog.

He looked so much like a ruffled house cat then that it nearly made  
me laugh. He leaned against me, smiling against my shoulder, perfectly  
at ease in this close company.

"Jasper," he said, looking up with cocked head. "Why don't you have  
a bath? The water isn't dirty."

I looked at the tub, trying to remember the last time I had a warm bath  
rather than a quick wash in cold rainwater or a horse trough. Years. Perhaps  
twenty. I tried to remember the feel and had to close my eyes against the  
pure sensual longing.

"I...if you don't mind...I will, young master." Feeling strangely shy,  
and a little vulnerable. Afraid to let him see me at pleasure.

Obi-Wan pulled away and sank into a large chair near the fire, pulling  
his legs up against his body. He regarded me for a minute as I stood, unsure  
of myself.

"I won't look if you don't want me to," he said softly.

"I'm all right," I said, meaning it, and I pulled the outer shirt over  
my head.

The inner shirt had ties holding it together, so I broke his soft gaze  
to see to those. The small pouch of personal belongings slung over my shoulder,  
and then I stood nude to the waist. I worked much of the summer in such  
a state of undress, but it felt radically different in this highly civilized  
surroundings. And in such company. He looked at me with quiet curiosity.

I sat on the footstool to pull off my heavy boots. And I gathered my  
considerable courage, stood, removed my belt and let my trousers fall to  
the ground.

I met the young master's eyes, naked before him, awaiting his response.  
The feeling was like nothing before. I had no fear of him, nor did he fear  
me. I felt tall and powerful, looking down upon him, thinking of his delicate  
and effortless weight in my arms. But he was confident in his weakness,  
trusting me completely.

Filigreed emotion, tingling through me, so strange.

The moment stretched out like eternity, until I finally turned and stepped  
into the bath. The water closed over me, warm like sunlight but more encompassing,  
buoying me up in its clasp. So long...I closed my eyes against the onslaught  
of sensation. I shivered, and my nipples hardened, reacting to the relative  
chill of the room.

Squeezed the water over my shoulders, running down my back like quick  
hands. I think I lost myself for a long moment, disappeared into exquisite  
sensation, so lacking in the life of a slave.

I heard Obi-Wan move and opened my eyes. He lifted the second jug of  
water, and I helped support it as he tipped it slowly over my head. Rubbing  
my hair, washing sweat and dust and time away, feeling fresh and new.

I arose and wrapped myself in a towel, giving Obi-Wan a hand up from  
the floor. I helped him back to bed. Collected myself. Wrapped myself in  
an old robe of his and collected the cloths and such that I had used during  
his illness, tossing them into the bathtub with some soap to soak.

Until there was nothing left to do, and I turned toward the bed again.

Obi-Wan gazed upon me evenly. He held out his hand, and I crossed and  
took it. I let him take my other hand and pull me in, leaning against the  
bed with my hands pressed to his heart.

"Jasper," he whispered, his voice naked with flaring emotion. "come  
to bed with me."

I moved up to kneel over him, our faces nearly touching, his heartbeat  
accelerating under my hands as the blankets warmed between us. I pressed  
a kiss into his kitten-soft hair, enjoying each jewel-like moment as it  
lasted.

This would inevitably turn ugly--master and slave romances always did--but  
I could treasure these few minutes, hours, or days. What time we had unblemished  
together.

He had such beautiful, clear eyes, grey like Northern seawater or like  
a winter sky. Such a cold color for the warmth of his skin. We stared at  
each other as if in a trance. I wondered what he saw in my own eyes.

I shifted my weight slowly forward, lying atop him, feeling the quiver  
of his body under two thickness of blanket. My forehead pressed against  
his, our hands still trapped together between our chests.

I kissed his lips then, our tongues meeting gently.

Soft melting sensation, delicate emotion tingling between us like pins  
swept along on the slow wave of arousal. We kissed for long minutes, exhilarating  
in each other's touch. Until his every touch upon my body felt like hot  
sunlight upon my skin.

I pulled away, I had to, my breath coming fast and shallow. Our hands  
separated unwillingly so that I could prop myself over his body. Obi-Wan's  
cheeks were flushed, his eyes wide, and he moved slightly against the sheet--wanting  
to be touched.

I shifted to one side and put my hand to the blanket, asking permission  
with the movement of my eyes. He nodded his head against the pillow and  
we pushed the blanket down, laying our robe-clad bodies together again,  
suddenly hot and intense.

Obi-wan caught his lip in his teeth and untied both our robes. Our bodies  
exploded into contact. I collapsed against him, his impossibly sweet flesh  
against mine, my bearded cheek against his smoothly shaven face as my body  
pressed his molten beauty against the mattress.

Obi-Wan wrapped his arms around my neck and pulled me down into a hungry  
kiss. He drew his legs up around my thighs, our bodies moving to meet each  
other at every possible point wordlessly. I could taste his kisses on my  
tongue--such a very long time since I tasted such overwhelming need.

His body shifted fascinatingly between softness, delicacy, and strength.  
Arching against me, moving together until my brain blurred into incoherence.  
And we came together, rocking together in release, release of fear and  
loneliness that I never knew I suffered, release of tension and degradation,  
release of limiting thought.

And we sank together, rocking like boats on the ocean, melted together  
like waxen candles in the sun. His eyes closed as he fell into sleep, his  
arms still tight around me.

I propped myself on my elbows, my body still humming with contact, and  
I looked upon his face. I memorized his features like a favorite poem.  
Such a precious gift given to me; more precious than he would ever know.

[end part eight.]

* * *

part nine: the echoes of the past.

I stood quiet, hands folded behind my back, as the physician examined  
Obi-Wan. "Well, you've come through this extremely well. You should recover  
without any sign you were ill. You received excellent care from your man  
here, he should be commended." The physician straightened up with a appreciative  
nod at me.

"I shall write to my brother and tell him," Obi-Wan said.

The physician took his leave, and Mare showed him out. I quickly swooped  
down and kissed Obi-Wan on the palm before she returned, eliciting a short  
laugh. "Later," he said, with pleasure on his lips.

* * *

I spent the day unpacking boxes and shelving books, thinking endlessly  
about the young man lying in the bed upstairs. Evening fell and Mare poked  
her head into the study. "The Master wants to talk to you," she said. "Can  
you bring his tray up for me?" I nodded, following her down to the kitchen.

I didn't miss townhouse stairs at all, I decided. Mile-long walks in  
the country were nothing compared to countless trips up and down this narrow  
staircase.

Obi-Wan was curled up in front of the fire as I entered the room. He  
looked very small in the enormous stuffed chair. I set the tray on the  
table next to him, and sat on the footstool. He looked troubled.

"I got a letter from my brother. He's sending Pines to collect you tomorrow,  
because he needs you to home for the harvest. I told him I was better--I  
guess I shouldn't have." He sighed heavily, looked at the fire.

"Nothing lasts forever," I said simply.

"But it could have lasted longer!" he cried, then pressed his hand to  
his mouth, looking at the door.

"We had a week. That's more than many get."

"How can you be so calm?"

I rested my chin on my fist, looking at him. "Maybe because I never  
expected to taste happiness--so a week is enough for me." I stood then,  
kissing him on the forehead. "I'll come up tonight to say my goodbyes."

He took my hand, giving me a tragic look. "Tonight. Please."

* * *

Night. I crept up the stairs.

The fire was low and the candles snuffed. Moonlight played over the  
bed and its occupant. I crossed silently to the bed, kneeling lightly upon  
it.

Obi-Wan opened his eyes, luminous in the moonlight. He brought his arms  
up around me and greeted me with a kiss.

The bed creaked and we both paused. "This won't do," I whispered.

I pulled away from him and tugged the top quilt off the bed. I folded  
the quilt and laid it down on the hearthstones in front of the banked fire,  
turning to see Obi-Wan half out of bed and smiling expectantly.

I picked him up and he stifled a laugh. Then I lay down on the quilt  
before the fire, my lover curled on my chest, and laughter turned to quick  
breath.

Melting kisses, our mouths tirelessly searching. His hands gently pulling  
my clothes away, mine reveling in his smooth unscarred form. His legs slipped  
to either side of me, he straddled my hips. "I want to touch all of you,"  
he murmured. "I want to know you completely."

I drew his nightshirt slowly over his head and he pressed his body to  
mine, devouring me with kisses. He moved down my body, sucking on callused  
fingers and kissing strong muscles. His mouth enclosed my sex and I had  
to stifle my cries with a rough knuckle. So much feeling, after such a  
long drought...

Obi-Wan pulled away, shifting back up my body. His mouth met mine again,  
hungry, searching. "All of you," he said. "I want you completely," and  
the position of his body told me what he meant. I met his eyes and ran  
a hand through his soft hair, down the large nose, pressing two fingers  
two his mouth. He sucked them in, his tongue stroking the rough pads. He  
placed so much trust in me. It was a feeling so new.

I pressed up inside him and he gasped, bouncing up on his knees--"Jasper!"  
His hands clasping my shoulders, riding my hand. I knew that nobody had  
ever touched him like this before, just as I had never made anyone cry  
out with love instead of lust.

I pulled my fingers free, watching his quick breath. He shifted his  
weight onto his hands, meeting my wild eyes, and lowered himself onto me.  
And he was sweet, so sweet...

He gasped my name, over and over, as we moved together, and finally--burst  
into stars.

"Obi-Wan," I whispered into his ear. "beloved."

"Jasper, my heart and my soul..." whispered into my lips, his body shaking  
as he slowly collapsed into my arms.

* * *

Pines came for me early in the afternoon. Mare saw us off with a package  
of sandwiches and a smile. I sat up on the driver's box next to Pines and  
we clattered away through the streets.

I suppose Obi-Wan was watching. I didn't look.

"Did you have a nice vacation?" Pines asked, taking a sandwich.

"Ha, I suppose so. A nice change of work. But I've climbed enough stairs  
to last me until the day I die."

He laughed. "Aye! There's no space for a proper house here. But I don't  
know why they don't rent them out lengthwise, by floor"--waving his meal--"like  
sandwiches, you know."

"Then it wouldn't be quite so clear who was upstairs, and who was downstairs."

Pines caught my meaning and spat over the side of the cart. "That's  
what I say to this upstairs and downstairs. Better to live in the country  
where there's no stairs at all."

"Just field and house?"

He looked at me. "Which do *you* like better?" Raising his eyebrows.

I looked at my hands. "I lived my entire life in this city, you know,  
except for the past year. And I don't remember ever seeing the stars."  
I looked up at the afternoon sky then, smudged by chimneys and criss-crossed  
by squabbling crows. "Maybe I never looked up?"

Pines had nothing to say to that. He handed me a sandwich and we ate  
in comfortable silence until we reached the city gates.

"Oh! I have some news, Jasper," he said with a grin. "Me and Rose, we're  
getting married!"

Rose was the house maid. They were perfect for each other, both steady  
and hard workers. I had noticed their attention to each other over the  
past year and wasn't at all surprised. "Congratulations! I know you'll  
be happy together."

"I asked her these three days ago, and got permission from Master Owen  
the next morning. He said he was planning to add new quarters to the house  
anyway, so he's giving us a right large room. We'll be married after the  
harvest." He grinned.

"Children?" His mouth twisted, and I immediately regretted the question.  
"I'm sorry, Pines--"

"Nah, it's all right. We've talked it over. Neither of us can bear to  
bring them into this. We were both born free, ken? Master Owen is a good  
man, but--" Pines shook his head. "It's too uncertain. I wouldn't even  
know how to name them, like."

I paused. "I was born into slavery. My mother named me Qui-Gon."

"A long name! She had aspirations." The master class had long names  
of more than one sound: Owen, Obi-Wan. The servant class got short names  
of one sound, like Mare. Slaves got object names: Rose, Jasper, Brick.  
Mud. Broom. It depended entirely on the will of the owner.

"Not exactly aspirations...more like spirit. She came from the master  
class. I don't know what happened, she never said. And then she died, and  
I was sold, and lost that name for good." I shrugged.

"Aye. I was a small farmer for a good many years. But--one too many  
bad harvests, and you run out of things to sell apart from yourself. And  
Rose was widowed by a drunkard, left with more debts than she could cover."

"What's it like?"

"What?"

"Being free."

He gave me a look. I returned it. I was honestly curious.

Pines rubbed his forehead, thinking. "I don't know how to say it, really.  
It's not that you can do whatever you want, because you can't. I was tied  
to my farm then just as I am now; and I was renting it, so it wasn't even  
my own. But it *feels* different inside when you're the master of yourself.  
Like you can control your destiny, even if you really can't." He stopped,  
obviously out of words. "Does that make sense?"

"Not really."

He cuffed my shoulder. "You're too much of a pragmatist, man, you need  
to dream a little!"

"I do dream," I said with a bit of a smile. "Just not about that."

There was a strand of twine wrapped twice around my left wrist. A memento  
that no-one would recognize--a fiber that had tied up the boxes of books.

* * *

I dreamed that night of sweet kisses and moonlit whispers--for a while,  
anyway.

Then the dream shifted. I dreamt of Xae, his buying of me.

I was tall. I had reached my full growth. I was young and still fairly  
handsome, so it seemed likely that I would be bought for sex. The dealer  
knew this and was marketing me as a "valet"--one of the usual code words.

Xae was smaller, dark and fine-boned, with enormous, liquid eyes. I  
found him attractive and put myself forward subtly. I ran my tongue over  
my lips and relaxed my features, nearly smiling. I showed off my muscles  
at the right time and tried to look willing.

So he bought me.

Perhaps I was wrong. I'll never know who else was in the market that  
day. But I can't think like that, that way lies madness.

He took me to bed that night with kisses and caresses, a much more delicate  
and skillful bedmate than my aged previous master. I was greatly relieved,  
and gave myself willingly.

And things were quite acceptable for the first year. Looking back I  
saw his manipulations from the start, but they never bothered me.

In the second year things got worse. He made me come to his parties,  
masquerade as a free companion. I knew little of free etiquette and was  
miserable. I hated riding in his carriage and dreaded detection every time  
we went out. I knew the punishments for removing my collar and I knew that  
he would not be the one to suffer them.

But we were not caught. Xae was rich enough to bribe the constables.

And the last two years...he exploded into violence. As my bruises increased  
our excursions decreased, so I felt nauseatedly thankful for that. Until  
the final night he had me as his slave, when I felt all hope and joy and  
any positive emotion I might ever have felt drained out of my tied bleeding  
wrists and into the polished wood against my forehead as I whispered ragged  
prayers to my long dead mother as he with horsewhip and poker vented his  
rage rage rage--

I bolted upright, gasping awake, feeling the echo of years across my  
memory. Pressing the heels of my hands of my eyes, remembering the embrace  
of unconsciousness, that I thought (hoped) was death.

But I awoke again, bandaged and splinted and immobile, in a tiny back  
room of a large dealer's establishment. And then I knew true despair.

I had never felt so helpless and so lacking in hope. The loss of my  
mother was a child's grief; this was an adult's loss. Lying there in the  
silence and darkness in possession of a man who had no interest in me other  
than to make a profit off my raw flesh.

But fate works strangely...and it led me to the hands of the kindest  
man I ever knew.

He was ancient and tiny even then, bent and gnarled. He bid me kneel  
that he might look at me, tipping up my downcast eyes to meet his bright  
gaze.

"These scars are new, aren't they?" he asked, speaking to me rather  
than the dealer.

"Yes, master." My voice dead, bereft of feeling.

He bought me then. I don't know why. Perhaps he saw some potential buried  
beneath the thick blanket of anguish. In the trivial sense, Master Yoda  
taught me bricklaying. In the greater sense, he taught me trust, hope,  
and love. I grew to love him as a father. And he gave me the gift of myself:  
the freedom to love and the freedom to think. He told me to do only one  
thing: pass on his teachings to at least one person before I died.

I thought upon a frazzled young man with short red-blond hair, and knew  
that I had found someone to teach.

[end part nine. next part and final: the writing of the letter.]

* * *

[part ten: in which the audience learns why the author has never considered  
this a sad story.]

I trimmed the hawk feather into a writing quill, as I had done a dozen  
times for my master. Put pen to paper.

"Damnation," I cursed quietly. I had never done this before.

Children wrote. This couldn't be difficult. I sounded out the words,  
matching them to the words I had seen in books.

_-To the Young Mast_\--(hells, I had seen this a dozen different  
ways in a dozen different books.)

_-To the Young Mastyr, from jaspyr._

I frowned. That looked wrong. But continued, trusting that Obi-Wan would  
catch my meaning.

_-i am writing here sytting in the pyg hous. i like the pygs, they  
keep me good companie._

Quiet, peaceful, and clean, as Master Owen didn't believe in keeping  
pigs in filth. Just as he didn't believe in keeping slaves in desperation.

_-You must undyrstand Young Mastyr that i do not regret anythyng.  
not my birth or my station or my actions with you. i am nottsad._

I had sorrows, but not regrets...and I knew the young man needed to  
hear that.

_-i treasur my memorys of you but they must remain memorys. because  
i am still a slave and you are still a master and iremain here in your  
brothers hous._

Hous. Haus? Hause? Dammit. Hous.

_-i thynk that thyngs would be different if i were a free man. but  
i am not and may never be i do not know how to live as a freeman._

I didn't know how to make my living, anyway. And...other things. I wasn't  
quite sure how to break the habit of obedience. I could think freely, but  
acting freely is different.

_-You treate me as a friend not a slave. and i keep that insyde my  
heart that there is a good man a very good man. somewhere.your brother  
is a good man too. i serve him happily. but You were different i dyd not  
serve you i trustyd you._

Trusted him enough to send him this letter...trusted him with a few  
of my secrets, if not all. Trusted him with my body.

_-Your brother speaks of changing my name again. that i am more valuable  
than jaspyr maybe emyrld or tyrmalyne. i askplease let me stay jaspyr.  
secretly in my heart i am jaspyr now because you called me jaspyr. i hold  
it in my heart._

And as I wrote it, I knew it was true. Master Yoda put no weight on  
names, he hardly ever called me by the name he gave me. But Obi-Wan had  
cried it out as I explored his sweet body, which gave the name a worth  
entirely new to me.

Sudden call--"Jasper?" Cook. I would have to hurry.

_-i thynk that i will not be able to write again i have no paper and  
Cook calls. but i send you my heart and say goodbye. jaspyr._

And if that didn't bring him here, nothing would. The boy was clever,  
he would find a way. And then I could pass on Master Yoda's gift of self.

I lay the letter in the sun to dry and leaned back against the rough  
wood. My arm brushed across the pouch slung under my clothes.

I smiled. My secret. One that nobody else was trusted with, certainly  
not Obi-Wan, who would never understand. It was Master Yoda's last gift,  
a gift which always lay in the back of my mind.

A gift of three gold. Enough to buy my freedom.

It rested against my side, waiting to be used.

I would not use it this season. The countryside was peaceful and golden  
in the late summer sun, and new challenges awaited me under the hand of  
a decent man.

But perhaps, when the farm work grew wearisome and I grew older, the  
gold against my ribs would buy me freedom, a small shop in the city, an  
equal standing with my lover. I held tight my mother's words--"remember  
freedom!"

And then...who knows what the future holds. I know the pure life of  
the moment and the jewels of memory. The future is a reflecting pool, showing  
you only yourself.

I sprang to my feet, leaving my hopes naked under the warm sun, and  
went to attend the work of the day.

end.


End file.
